


I'll Wait Under Tomorrow's Sun [ON HIATUS]

by AutisticMob



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: 1940s, Abuse of Power, Airplane Crashes, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - World War II, Background Max/Griff, Bisexual Ash Lynx, Canon Bisexual Character, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Coming Out, Culture Shock, Dark, Derogatory Language, Diary/Journal, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Forbidden Love, Gay Eiji Okumura, Historical, Historically Accurate, Homophobic Language, I didn't add it in the relationship tag since it's just mentioned, IM GONNA TAG ALL THESE DAMN TRIGGERS, Imperialism, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Internalized Homophobia, Language Barrier, M/M, Military Homophobia, Mutual Pining, Nationalism, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Pining, Political Commentary, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slurs, Slut Shaming, Smoking, Soldier Ash, Underage Drinking, WWII, Warnings TBA, World War II, aaaaall the isms, hopefully at least?, like REALLY dark in some places
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-14 15:08:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16915200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutisticMob/pseuds/AutisticMob
Summary: Private Ash Lynx's transport plane crash-lands in the enemy nation of Japan, nearly killing him. Tired, injured, and filled with adrenaline, he wanders aimlessly towards an unknown somewhere, passing out shortly after only to be rescued by an overly-friendly stranger. Ash quickly comes to realize that the both of them will be forced into a confusing double-life if they're to keep their budding relationship a secret.EDIT 2/1/19: This fic is on indefinite hiatus for the forseeable future. I may update, but it's not my top priority right now, as I'm focused on writing other things. Thanks for all your support, I appreciate each and every one of you.





	1. Chapter I - Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I won't write another banana fish fic for a while  
> Me: 
> 
> Also this is gonna get...........Bad TM since this is a banana fish fic and a WWII fic. A later scene will definitely make this count as explicit......
> 
> I love WWII so I had to write a WWII au hghjjkkmghj its an old special interest coming back to haunt me....
> 
> Anyways ily all and thanks for your continued support!
> 
> EDIT 2/1/19: As I said in the description, this fic is on hiatus for now. I may update some time in the future (not sure when if at all), but I have other stories I'm working on at the moment that take higher priority. I'm not really as into BF as I was when I wrote this, which is also another factor contributing to my laziness.

The dark green metal of the _Douglas C-47_ shook violently as the transport plane careened across the air currents over the Pacific; humid and balmy as it rose up from the salty ocean. A thick, nervous silence hung in the cabin, punctuated only by the rattling of the metal plating that covered the plane as the air ran across it.

It felt like he’d waited an eternity for this moment, but now that he and his section awaited their landing in Japan with baited breath, everyone’s disappointment seemed obvious. Any euphoria that he’d previously felt had faded into what could be described as, at best, apathy, and at worst, disappointment. 

All the bodies crammed into the plane jolted violently as the plane headed into an area of thick turbulence. 

The pilot’s voice over the intercom tore Ash out of his thoughts. He ignored it for several moments whilst the pilot greeted them, his ears pricking up upon noticing the muted sound of an alarm blaring in the pilot’s cabin.

“We’ve encountered some slight technical difficulties,” the pilot said calmly, the sound of the unknown alarm becoming more noticeable. 

“Please stand by whilst we address this problem. Thank you for your cooperation!” the pilot chirped happily. 

At first, the violent shaking of the plane seemed to simply be some moderate turbulence, or whatever ‘technical difficulties’ were going on. 

However, as the vibrating in the floor became minutely more noticeable, the roaring of the engines on either side began quieting, and the right engine began making a strange sputtering noise, setting off alarm bells in Ash’s head. All the other members of the section seemed to notice it as well, as an uncomfortable air of uneasiness filled the cabin. Quiet mutterings bounced about the uninsulated walls, and a few of the younger section members were standing on the seats, their gazes cast out the windows in abject horror. 

The _C-47_ suddenly dipped, dropping probably about several hundred feet through the air before being cushioned by another pocket of protective air, thoroughly rattling everyone inside. 

Quiet sobbing came from some unknown private across the aisle, and the murmurs only increased in volume. 

“Greetings, fifteenth section.”

The pilot’s voice came over the intercom again, sounding subtly more panicked this time. 

“There seems to be a problem with the engine, so we’re going to have to make an emergency landing. We’re sorry for the inconvenience we’ve caused.”

By the last word, the pilot almost sounded like he was full-on sobbing, sending a wave of panic down Ash’s spine. 

Even with the remote possibility that the pilot could actually find somewhere to land, they were in enemy territory.

Japan; a place where they weren’t exactly welcome. 

Upon realizing this, discomfort reared its head in Ash’s chest, churning his stomach. Several people had gone into panic mode, sobbing and praying openly. The kid across the aisle pulled at his rosary, rubbing his fingers up and down the beads as he cried. 

The cabin burst into a fit of surprised screams as the plane dropped another several hundred feet once again, the right engine sputtering out completely, now emitting nothing but a strange rattling that sounded as if something were broken or stuck inside it. Like clockwork, the plane got caught in an updraft and continued on straight ahead, shakier this time. 

As soon as the plane began tilting forward, everyone knew the collective sigh of relief they’d breathed mere moments ago had come too soon. The tilt seemed minor for a few seconds, until a loud metallic creaking tore through the cabin, sending the plane tipping about 60 degrees. Many of the section members struggled to stay in their seats, and several even slid off and into the closed metal door to the pilot’s cabin, connecting to the metal with a hollow thunk.

The plane suddenly dropped once more, rapidly descending as it tipped even further, smoke from the right engine billowing up past the windows. In its nosedive, the plane began to spin, sending the now raucous cabin members flying out of their seats, making hard contact with the metal walls, floor, and pilot cabin door. A cacophony of screaming and crying rang out as the bottom of the plane made contact with something, shaking violently. Several more consecutive thuds and scraping noises along the side of the plane tore off one of the panels, air rushing out of the cabin. Several of the section members were instantly blown out into the forest that was being leveled by their plane. 

Ash, heart now pounding so loud that he swore it may just beat out of his chest, clung to the bar on the seat, the metal stinging cold against his hands. 

Cold air roared into the long since depressurized cabin, and the right wing began to crumple like wet tissue paper as it made contact with the ground, snapping off and sending the plane into a 180-degree spiral. More section members scrambled to hang on to whatever they could find, but a large group was dragged out through the massive hole by the unforgiving hands of the enemy climate. 

As if things weren’t bad enough, the plane continued to spiral downwards towards the ground, slamming into a large section of trees and crumpling the nose, crushing several teen bodies in the process, much to Ash’s horror. A few other members had somehow miraculously managed to cling to whatever they could find, and were all huddled at the right side of the plane, right next to the area where the panel had been torn off. The small group sat together out of the blast, the air becoming stagnant as the plane screeched to a halt across the forest floor, a stray tree knocking two other members out of the plane, which was now on its side, the exposed area close to the ground; enough so that the surviving section members could climb out. 

Ash, however, remained precariously dangling over the hole, grabbing onto the bar for dear life. The muscles in his arms burned, screaming to just let go. The aisle positioned a mere fifty or so feet across had now become a death trap. Ash knew that if he let go of the bar, he would fall directly onto the ground slashed with crushed trees and most likely die from falling on a tree. 

As if things couldn’t get any worse, the moment Ash opened his mouth to call out to the remaining section members, the right engine burst into a fiery explosion, instantly killing everyone who’d been pressed against the panel, as it had been unfortunately positioned mere feet from the engine. A shower of shrapnel shot out towards Ash, sending a searing white pain almost instantly ran up his right leg and shoulder, his vision blurring from the pain. 

Sweat from his palms coated the bar, and Ash felt his fingers beginning to slip. Black tendrils crept into the corners of his vision, and the debris-strewn floor warped and spun beneath him, and his consciousness began to recede back into his body. 

Only one option remained.

_Jump._

It sounded crazy, but to Ash’s static-filled mind, that plan had an inkling of sense to it. The explosion had cleared away most of the trees, and he could possibly escape with his life if he used some kind of cushioning.

Thinking fast, Ash tore off a segment of the cushioned seat, tossing it to the ground below. He then hesitantly shrugged off his bag, sending it connecting to the ground with a dull thump. Disgustingly, both the seat cushion and his pack landed amongst several bloodied bodies that were strewn amongst the leafy forest floor. 

Much less prepared than he would’ve liked to have been, the sweat from his hands caused him to slip off the bar, sending Ash sliding down the uneven floor, his sweat-soaked hands screeching against the metal.

Tumbling unceremoniously down onto his bag, the seat cushion, and the torso of one of his deceased section mates, Ash nearly passed out once again. 

But his soldier training came back to him in a sudden burst of clarity, and he picked up his bag, now covered in blood, dirt, and leaves, and slung it over his shoulder as he crawled out of the smoking wreckage, the torn metal tearing his uniform. 

Upon getting a safe distance away from the crashed plane, which happened to be several hundred feet into the forest, Ash finally took a moment to try and compose himself, his body shaking with nerves and adrenaline. He’d nearly forgotten about the pain in his leg and shoulder, but sitting down made it come back in full force. 

Ash knew he couldn’t sit for long, or he’d probably pass out and die from blood loss or shock. 

He rose shakily to his feet, trudging across the leaf litter through the warping maze of trees. Every step sent a searing pain through his legs, which felt as though they were made of lead, and a wave of exhaustion through his body. 

Still, he knew that he couldn’t stop. The only option he had left would be to try and find someone who could help him, or at least end his misery quickly. Every tree felt as though it were a thousand miles away, and five minutes felt like an eternity as the adrenaline that had kept him so high for most of the crash had started to wear off, leaving him exhausted and in excruciating pain.

As he marched slowly on, the trees began thinning. At first, Ash believed it to just be his pain- and shock-addled mind tricking him, but upon confirming the distance by tossing a rock, a small flame of hope flickered to life in his heart. 

Minutes turned to hours as Ash made his way out of the forest and down a massive grassy valley. By the time he reached a small stream at the base of a massive hill, night had long since fallen. Ash stopped for a moment to look up at the stars, which spun dizzily around his head for a moment before settling into their unfamiliar position in the inky darkness. Unfamiliar sounds came from all around, and the icy hand of loneliness began slowly wrapping its fingers around Ash’s heart. 

Yet, he still trudged on, guided by the light of the only friend he had in this entire foreign world, the silver moon dangling overhead, seeming to be almost within arms’ reach as Ash crested the hill. A dull ache had now seeped into every bone in his body, and as he stumbled almost drunkenly up the hill, he truly believed that these few minutes would be his last moments on Earth. 

But upon reaching the top, Ash’s eyes were assaulted with a vision of something he’d never expected, not in a million years. Something that sent him to his knees, crumpled into a sobbing heap on the grassy hillside. 

The faint, flickering lights of a rural town, probably a mile or so from Ash’s current location. 

Something swelled up inside him, something pushing him to keep going; to run, even. 

But any strength to be found in his body was long gone, and he found himself unable to stand. His vision blurred in and out of focus like the lens of a camera, and the void of his creeping unconsciousness threatened to swallow him whole. 

Ash could feel the hillside spinning beneath him, just as the plane did before its inevitable ‘death’. Perhaps this moment would become his metaphorical nosedive, the seconds before he’d crash and burn, playing out in painful slow motion as he watched the dancing lights of the distant town fade into the encroaching blackness that had become his failing vision. 

Ash never saw the light at the end of the tunnel, though. 

When his eyes finally opened, he saw not God’s pearly gates, but instead a low, tan ceiling, made of what looked like wood planks. Every part of him ached, but the tiredness that he’d felt upon passing out on the hill had long since left his body. Glancing down towards his feet, he noticed that a blue and white thin blanket covered his body, and his back was pressed against some kind of thin cushion on what he could only presume was a floor. 

It only took a few more seconds for his groggy mind to realize that he’d been stripped of all his clothes, which sent a pang of fear through his chest, causing him to sit up with a jolt, clutching tightly at the blanket. 

He cautiously scanned the room, confusion flooding into his still-hazy brain. 

The room had off-white walls, which matched what appeared to be some kind of sliding door, made with a wood frame and some kind of thin, white substance. Maybe drywall or something. 

Even stranger was the floor, however. It was made of some type of dried plant material, like straw that had been woven into mats. A strange, slightly raised white porcelain rectangle sat a few feet away from him, also on the floor. In the shallow rectangular dish rested a burning stick of some kind, emitting a thin trail of smoke. It didn’t take Ash long to figure out that the stick had filled the room with a wonderful smell, although what smell exactly evaded him at the moment. 

Across from him, his bag sat slumped against the wall. It had obviously been washed, as had his uniform, undergarments; even his socks. His dog tag rested atop the pile of neatly folded clothes. What Ash found most strange about the situation, however, was that his Army-issued combat boots had seemed to have disappeared. Scanning the whole room twice from top to bottom revealed no trace of them. 

As he looked around the room, eyes wide with shock, his well-trained ears suddenly picked up the sound of quiet footsteps approaching. Ash quickly lay back down, pretending to be asleep as the door slid open, and the quiet uneven footfalls approached him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, listening intently as whoever had entered the room sat down beside him. 

What felt like a cold, wet cloth being placed on his forehead jolted him up out of bed, his heart pounding. Whoever was beside him let out a small shout of surprise, stumbling back onto the floor. 

The two turned to look at each other, the wet compress now laying useless on Ash’s blanket. 

Ash immediately locked eyes with the person who’d entered his room, seemingly with the intent to care for him. 

A boy probably around Ash’s age, maybe a bit younger, met his gaze. He had curious, round, deep brown eyes; a shimmering current of amber. His face looked soft and round, framed starkly by his soft-looking, shaggy jet black hair, a bit shorter than Ash’s own. The unknown stranger’s skin reminded Ash of the color of sand beneath the sunset on the beaches of New England; a constant, poignant reminder of home.

And he saw it now in this person’s skin; soft and unmarked. 

The stranger looked equally intrigued. 

He’d never seen anyone with eyes like that. They were emerald green, the color of jade. His neck-length hair reminded him of the soft golden lining that the clouds took on during sunset. His skin seemed unusually pale, almost porcelain-colored. He had a small scar carved into the skin of his cheek beneath his eye.

“W-Who are you?” Ash asked, scooting back slightly upon realizing how uncomfortably close he’d gotten to someone he didn’t know. 

The stranger smiled and said something Ash couldn’t understand. 

“Huh? Do you understand English?” Ash asked, raising an eyebrow. 

The stranger merely looked at him, his mouth pressed into a confused frown. 

“Um...what’s your name? Name?” Ash asked, pointing to the stranger. 

The stranger simply flashed him a soft, kind smile, rising to his feet and slowly leaving the room, his footsteps fading down the hall. 

The thing that stuck out the most about him, besides his surprisingly soft and kind face, a face that felt like a distant mirage, a faint dream he’d seen once, aeons ago, was his limp. The stranger’s pants covered both his legs completely, so getting even the faintest idea of any injuries he may have had proved futile, instead only serving as another mystery for Ash to unravel. 

Mere moments passed before the dark-haired guy returned, sliding the door open with one hand, holding a tray in the other. Ash desperately scanned his mind in an attempt to remember even one of the phrases he’d taught himself so he could flirt with Japanese women in preparation for his arrival.

“Um...kooh...nee...chee wah?” Ash questioned awkwardly as the dark-haired stranger placed the tray down on the floor in front of him, taking a seat with his legs crossed. 

The boy cocked his head inquisitively. “ _Konnichiwa?_ ” he asked, smiling. 

Ash nodded vigorously, unable to hold back his smile. 

For someone who supposedly hated America, he seemed sweet. 

Wait.

No. 

This must be a trap. This person must just be using him; lulling him into a false sense of security to kill him or take him prisoner or something. 

The whole limp must’ve also been fake. People sometimes did things like that to gain sympathy, at least according to his drill sergeant. 

He scolded himself for acting so stupid; for believing what certainly seemed to be a farce.

The stranger pushed the tray towards Ash, who looked down at it. A small bowl of rice, a cup of tea, and a plate of meat and cooked vegetables with some kind of sauce sat atop the tray, as well as a pair of wooden chopsticks. It smelled delicious, and Ash could feel himself salivating. It felt as though ages had passed since he’d eaten anything. 

Wait.

Since when? 

A surge of fear washed over him just as the thought seeped into his mind. 

Just how long had he been out for? 

“How long have I been out?” Ash asked, concern welling up in his eyes. As he sat up further, the fact that he had awoken without any clothes on hit him over the head.

“What the fuck did you do?” Ash snapped, leaning forward and grabbing the stranger by his shirt collar. 

Those brown eyes widened, filling with fear. He said something in Japanese, his body trembling as Ash glared daggers into him. 

A pang of regret suddenly pierced his heart, and he felt terrible for acting out in such a way. 

But he still didn’t trust this guy. 

And even though the food smelled deliciously tantalizing, he wasn’t going to eat it and risk getting poisoned. 

Ash pulled the blanket up over his waist in a desperate bid to cover himself, glaring down at the tray. 

“Leave,” Ash commanded, pointing towards the door with his left arm, his right arm keeping the blanket pressed against his waist. 

The stranger looked confused as he turned towards the doorway where Ash’s finger pointed. 

He looked back towards Ash, still confused. 

Ash groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and scooping up his clothes from off the floor beside him. 

Ash pointed back towards the door with more force this time, causing the dark-haired guy to turn his head again, looking towards the door. As soon as he’d looked away, Ash quickly rose to his feet, pulling on his pants as fast as possible, blushing darkly when the stranger turned back yet again. 

It seemed like embarrassment was definitely a universal language in that moment, because the stranger blushed too, quickly pulling his gaze away from Ash, who threw his bunched-up uniform top at the stranger’s head, causing it to fall into his lap awkwardly. 

After putting on his pants, Ash felt a bit calmer, sitting back down on the futon cautiously. 

The dark-haired boy’s eyes shifted to the side, glancing back at Ash. Realizing he now had his pants on, he turned back around fully, politely handing him the clothes that he’d thrown at him. 

Again, he said something Ash didn’t understand, except one word. 

‘ _Tabemasu._ ’

Did this guy seriously think he’d eat the food?

The stranger sat patiently, smiling warmly at Ash, who had his arms folded across his bare chest, desperate to not give in to the enticing-looking delicious-smelling food.

Eventually, though, the incessant hunger pangs that jabbed at his stomach like a thousand needles had gotten too painful. Passing out for a third time already seemed like a very real possibility. 

“Fuck,” Ash muttered. 

“ _F-Fakku_ ,” the dark-haired stranger echoed, smiling. His accent warped the pronunciation a bit, but it was undeniable that he’d already picked up on a swear word. 

“N-No! Don’t say that!” Ash scolded, poking the other in the chest. The boy looked taken aback, as if he’d just been lied to. 

Ash groaned, rubbing his temples as he squeezed his eyes shut. The language barrier seemed to be the biggest issue between the two of them. He hadn’t a single idea _where_ specifically in Japan they’d crashed, so it would make sense that this guy didn’t understand any English if he were the equivalent of like, someone from the American midwest or whatever. 

But the thought from earlier forced itself back into the forefront of his mind. All of this could just be fake. This guy belonged to the same group of people who’d destroyed a shipyard for seemingly no reason, and the ones who’d committed war crimes against China, too. 

Ash assured himself that being cautious could only be a good thing. 

And yet, some tiny part of him firmly believed that this had to be real. It seemed impossible to believe that he wouldn’t have been sent to a POW camp, or even just straight-up murdered had he been captured by anyone with military affiliations. This stranger showed no sign of hostility at all and had even presumably gone out of his way to care for Ash. 

“ _Amerikajin-san!_ ” The dark-haired boy chirped, pulling Ash from his thoughts. 

Huh? 

Ash looked over at him, noticing that he’d now placed the tray atop the blanket, obviously eager for Ash to eat whatever he’d cooked...or maybe his mom or sister cooked it. Did guys in Japan cook? Did they see it as a ‘woman’s job’ like most American guys did? 

He wished he could ask, but neither of them could communicate effectively at the moment. 

And the sensation of hunger only worsened with each passing moment. His training made him accustomed to the dull ache of skipping meals for a day or so, but nobody had trained him on what to do in a situation like this. The only logical progression that Ash could make from how badly his stomach hurt was that he had to have been out for several days. Of course, his mind and body had been through hell, so it made sense that he craved food now more than before. 

Come to think of it, he couldn’t even remember what the last thing he’d eaten had been. 

It didn’t matter. 

“ _Ano...Amerikajin-san_ ,” and then something unintelligible. The ending of the phrase increased slightly in pitch, as felt natural for the human voice to do when one was asking a question. 

“Uh...I...I don’t understand you...” Ash mumbled, digging through his mind for the word this person would recognize as an apology. 

“G-Go...mehn...nasai?”

The dark-haired boy laughed heartily, seeming to be pleased with Ash’s subpar attempts to speak the language that this person’s tongue knew as if it were his lover. 

Ash felt his cheeks flush slightly, figuring he’d probably butchered it. Nobody had ever taught him how to say any of this correctly, so he merely went off what the book he’d read had told him. 

Did a word exist for ‘I don’t understand?’

It had to, right? 

Ash’s head felt as though someone were sticking knives into it. Whatever he’d been thinking about, maybe something that had to do with communicating with the guy, instantly left his mind, his body forcing him to confront his hunger. 

Two choices existed on the table, and neither were ideal. He could die from starvation, which would be slow and painful and ultimately a horrible way to go out. 

Or, he could take the risk of being poisoned. At least he’d die within a couple minutes from a lethal dose of cyanide. 

He didn’t want to admit it, but the possibility existed that he wouldn’t die, and that this person really did have his best interest at heart. 

Someone who lived under Hirohito, who didn’t exactly love America. 

Why did the idea of dying this way trouble him so much? Why did it haunt him?

Maybe it was that he’d escaped death once. He should’ve died in that plane crash. Everything that happened told him he should have died. His very life had now become paradoxical, the inverse of what it should have been. 

Did anyone besides the person before him even know that he survived? What would happen when the military came to retrieve the corpses and to write letters home to the families of boys who hadn’t even lived the best years of their lives yet; who’d had the lives they deserved just as much as him violently stolen from them, and Ash’s body was nowhere to be found?

Would they assume he got eaten by some animal in the Japanese wilderness? Would they make up a story about how these people are evil, how they hate Americans? Would be just become a piece of propaganda in his homeland’s war machine? A scaremongering tactic to make people fear other people; the ones who were backwards for living on a strange island and speaking a strange tongue and eating strange foods?

A hand on his shoulder. Soft, gentle; not a single hint of malicious intent. 

Not at all like the hands of the old men who lived in giant houses, bigger than anything he and Griff had ever lived in. Not at all like the hands that belonged to men that smelled of expensive wine and foreign cigars; the hands of men that Ash had surrendered himself to in order to keep Griff alive; to pay for his medical bills after the same military that had forced 18-year old Ash into that _C-47_ to go die that had abandoned Griff after he’d become worthless to them and couldn’t fight anymore. Not at all like the hands of the men who worked in the government; men with the same eyes that looked over and approved and even wrote the laws that said two men can’t have sex; that having sex with a minor was wrong. Men who did things to twelve, thirteen, fourteen-year old Ash that they wouldn’t dream of doing to their wives. He’d trained himself not to complain or protest when they’d belittle him or hit him or force him into uncomfortable positions. He knew he’d be paid more if he “behaved well”.

The voice that followed; soft and gentle in tandem with the touch. Not a hint of the sharp, accusatory voices that hurled words that he didn’t know the meaning of. Words like ‘whore’, ‘cum dump’, and ‘slut’; disgusting words used to degrade him; to reduce him to something to be used and then thrown away; to belittle him despite how hard he worked to care for his brother and himself. He knew his job was dirty; disgusting. Anyone with even so much as a shred of dignity wouldn’t do what he did.

Thankfully, though, Ash had no concept of what ‘dignity’ was. He saw it as an advantage, as he’d had his dignity robbed long before he started “servicing” men. After being raped at age eight by his baseball coach, everything changed. He felt like he could only be ‘useful’ or ‘worth something’ if he had sex with older men. 

It wasn’t like he could pick another job, either. Besides viewing his worth as intrinsically tied to pleasing disgusting older men, working in a factory or a shop or something required long hours and didn’t pay well, and Ash needed to be home as much as possible to care for Griff, as a failed lobotomy had left him mostly unable to care for himself.

The nurses in France told Griff that he apparently had ‘shell shock’, a condition that many of the other soldiers fighting alongside Ash’s brother also developed during or shortly after their service. Griff’s mind seemed not to work properly at times, and he was often very depressed, even if he tried hard to hide it. The condition caused him to have terrible flashbacks to the event, coupled with horrific nightmares. Loud noises and certain phrases would sometimes send his older brother into an anxiety attack. He’d made the choice to have a lobotomy after a particularly bad breakdown sent him into a psychotic episode that lasted almost three days. 

Strangely enough, Ash exhibited lots of the same symptoms. Vivid flashbacks to his rape and ‘servicing’ his client base were commonplace, and he would often sleep in bed with Griff due to nightmares of the same trauma. 

But kids didn’t get shell shock. Only soldiers did. 

A kid could never have something like that, and he felt stupid for even suspecting it. 

“ _Amerikajin-saaaan!_ ” 

It wasn’t the stranger’s still calm, still patient voice suddenly slicing through his thoughts, but rather the almost debilitating pain in his stomach that brought him back to reality. 

Ash gave in to his stomach, his hand making a beeline for the tray.

He paused, however, hand hovering above the chopsticks as the weight of the sudden realization slammed into him, smacking him over the head. Heat flooded into his cheeks, and Ash averted his gaze from the dark-haired boy. 

Ash hadn’t the _faintest_ idea of how to use chopsticks. 

Oh god. 

The other looked at Ash intently, an unreadable expression on his face. 

He knew that he’d be forced to embarrass himself in front of this guy.

What did he even have left to lose? This person had already seen him naked. 

Then again, so had plenty of others. It wasn’t exactly special. That thought made him feel dirty, and he pushed it aside, fumbling awkwardly with the chopsticks, almost dropping them onto the weird mat floor multiple times. 

Someone like him shouldn’t have any shame, right? After everything he’d done in his life, ‘shame’ should have been an emotion he completely snuffed out, right?

Right? Was that how it was supposed to be?

He didn’t know. 

Neither school nor boot camp taught this kind of thing. He assumed it was just one of those things you were supposed to learn yourself. 

The dark-haired boy had broken into a fit of laughter, but not the bad kind. Not the rude, jeering, making-fun kind; the only kind Ash had ever known. 

The boy gently took the chopsticks from Ash.

His hand felt surprisingly soft, the contrast of his light brown skin against Ash’s own nearly pallid complexion mesmerizing. 

Ash watched intently as the guy whose name still evaded him effortlessly scooped up a bit of the rice, lifting it towards Ash’s mouth, as if he were a baby or something. 

A flurry of emotions flooded his brain, but the ravenous hunger burning in his abdomen caused him to open his mouth without so much as a second thought. 

Never had Ash believed that plain rice could taste so fucking _delicious_. It felt as though only a few moments had passed before he’d eaten everything, and now eagerly gulped down the tea, despite not being a huge fan of tea and honestly thinking it tasted exactly the same as water. 

After finishing it, Ash gingerly placed the cup on the tray, the sensation of being about to faint having since left his body. 

The dark-haired boy smiled, placing the chopsticks on the tray, both of them ignoring the strangeness that had just taken place. 

He asked something that Ash obviously didn’t understand. 

Ash assumed that the question probably related to the food. He flashed a smile and gave a thumbs up, scolding himself for not learning the word for ‘delicious’.

“It was good! Uh... _ee dehsuu?_ ” Ash raised an eyebrow.

The dark-haired boy’s brown eyes sparkled, filling with wonder. 

And then it hit him.

Ash didn’t even know this guy’s name. He’d just been mentally referring to him as ‘the guy’ and such. 

Thankfully, he’d learned how to ask someone’s name; probably the only useful thing he’d taken from his short study period besides ‘thanks’, ‘sorry’, ‘hello’, and ‘goodbye’.

“K-Ke...Keemi noh...nahmay wah?”

The stranger’s face blossomed into a flush, but his smile persisted, another sparkle of intrigue sparkling in his puppy eyes. 

“ _Onamae wa_ ,” the dark-haired boy pointed out, wishing he could explain formality to this guy. _Nobody_ called someone ‘ _kimi_ ’ like that.

“ _Demo, boku no namae wa Okumura Eiji,_ ” Eiji chirped. 

“Whoa...” Ash breathed. His Japanese sounded so beautiful; flawless. The way it ran off his tongue like a river sent a chill down Ash’s spine. 

“O-ore...wah...Ash Lynx,” he said slowly, trying to mimic Eiji’s pronunciation as best as possible. 

“Asshu...Rinkusu?” Eiji slowly tried out the other’s name, tongue lingering on every syllable of the _katakana_ he’d always used for words that weren’t his own. 

“Good enough,” Ash shrugged, watching Eiji’s careful, deliberate pronunciation of his name, reclaimed so boldly by Eiji’s tongue.

Suddenly, a voice came from downstairs. It sounded like a woman’s voice; her tone sharp and irritated. 

The color drained from Eiji’s face, and he scrambled to his feet, nearly falling back onto the ground. 

He rushed towards the door, stumbling and nearly tripping, picking himself up and leaning against the door. He motioned for Ash to be quiet before sliding the door open, cautiously poking his head out and looking both ways before flipping off the light in the room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click, leaving Ash confused and shrouded in darkness.


	2. Chapter II - Please Don't Let My Heart Turn Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long i’ve been busy with work and shit and working on my bsd fic. Anyways heres chapter 2 sorry for the god awful ending gshgdjsjjs
> 
> EDIT: THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR THE NICE COMMENTS AND 100+ KUDOS!! It means the world to me to see positive feedback on my work, and I’m glad people can get enjoyment out of what I write!

Ash sat wordlessly, cloaked in darkness. Downstairs, he heard Eiji’s voice, as well as the voice of a woman. He assumed she was probably Eiji’s mother or older sister or something. 

But why had he left Ash behind? Why had he turned out the light, motioning for him to be quiet?

It suddenly dawned on him.

The only thing that made sense would be that Eiji was _hiding_ him. He would have no reason _not_ to tell his mom otherwise. 

It made sense, as Ash could easily be perceived as the ‘enemy’, even if he saw it as the other way around. Not only that, but being an American soldier, it meant that Eiji harboring him could likely be illegal. 

But an inkling of doubt still lingered in Ash’s mind. What if all this was but a ploy to kill him; nothing but an elaborate prank?

He tried pushing the thought away, rationalizing that he likely would’ve already been dead had that been anyone’s goal. It had been ten minutes since he’d eaten, and the distinct nausea and headaches caused by most common poisons were absent. 

Why would someone go through so much work to kill one American soldier, anyways? Wouldn’t it have been more efficient to just have left Ash on the hillside, where he would’ve inevitably died from his wounds, shock, hunger, dehydration, or some combination of those factors?

Ash remained in the darkness for long enough that his eyes began to adjust, and he could make out the shape of his bag propped against the wall. He slowly crawled across the floor, doing his best to be as quiet as possible. 

Unzipping his bag slowly and cautiously, he glanced inside. Making out the contents was impossible in the darkness, so it was useless. 

The room below Ash fell into silence once again, and the familiar sound of uneven footsteps approached the room. The door slid open, bathing the room in light. 

Ash figured he probably looked like a raccoon who’d been caught digging through trash, as Eiji burst into a fit of laughter as soon as the light enveloped Ash. 

Eiji turned on the light, closing the door behind him. He slowly made his way towards Ash, wincing a little as he walked. It seemed pretty obvious that whatever injury he had wasn’t healed yet. 

He took a seat beside Ash, smiling warmly before peering into the other’s bag. 

An indeterminate amount of time having passed, and whatever had been inside it having been moved to the bottom of Ash’s list of priorities, he’d forgotten what he’d brought with him. 

Ash began fishing through the army-green bag, almost instantly producing a foldable set of eating utensils, the kind that were used in the field for meals cooked over a fire or something. 

He had a feeling that he wouldn’t need them anymore.

After that came probably three or four pairs of socks, which Griff had begged him to bring despite Ash’s repeated reminders that there were no trenches in Japan. The fuzzy memory of stuffing them into his bag at the last moment to sate his older brother’s fraternal neurosis bobbed back up into his mind from its spot in his subconscious. 

Ironic, considering the next thing that he produced from the bag turned out to be a photograph of him and Griff. It had been taken shortly before Ash’s deployment, obvious by the green uniform that hung awkwardly over his lanky form. Griff’s expression looked somber; it was obvious he’d forced himself to smile for the photograph. 

Eiji, who sat patiently beside Ash, craned his neck slightly to get a better look. Ash noticed, and passed the photograph to Eiji, who stared at it, his brown eyes wide. A soft smile danced across his lips as he asked Ash something. He picked up the word ‘onii-san’ and ‘otou-san’, which he knew meant ‘brother’ and ‘father’ respectively.

Ash nodded, “o-onii...san,” he repeated hesitantly.

Eiji looked a bit surprised; a normal reaction in Ash’s opinion. He and Griff didn’t look very much alike, and people always seemed surprised to find out that the two were siblings by blood, if not only half-brothers. 

Ash produced a few more insignificant items from the bag; _another_ pair of socks, a tightly-rolled sleeping bag (which Eiji found impossibly intriguing, it seemed), some hardened candy, a pack of cigarettes with one or two missing, a lighter, several magazines with ammo already in them, a pin-up magazine (the kind for reading), and his canteen, filled with what was most likely some kind of booze that Ash had undoubtedly managed to sneak past his commander. He slipped it into the front pocket of his uniform, deciding to drink it later and maybe share some with Eiji. 

The bottom of his bag yielded a brand-new leather bound journal with a fancy-looking pen tied to the front cover with a string, a parting gift from Griff.

Ash thumbed through the blank, neatly-lined pages, figuring he could make good use of it by documenting the happenings thus far. 

As he closed it, Ash realized inside front cover had something written on it. The text seemed to be written in marker; shaky and sloppy. Oddly spaced against the cream-colored paper, some of the words were nigh unreadable.

He recognized it instantly as Griff’s handwriting. He’d lost his ability to write and speak after his lobotomy, but a kind fellow ex-vet named Max from the clinic that Griff frequented agreed to help him relearn all the skills he’d lost out of the goodness of his heart. 

Ash remembered the expression on Max’s face when, for the first time, he’d arrived at their small, ramshackle apartment in Cape Cod. Ash offered to ‘pay’ him in certain ‘services’, as that had been his life for a long while now. 

But Max’s face didn’t adopt a cheshire cat-like grin as most of the grimy men that Ash knew did when he propositioned them for sex. Instead, he looked terrified; heartbroken.

Being just twelve at that time, Ash hadn’t understood that reaction. But now that he’d grown both physically and mentally, everything clicked into place. 

He’d always been thankful for Max’s kindness, and he realized now why he’d always been so caring towards Ash. Even if his twelve-year old self found it strange that this man _didn’t_ want to have sex with him, he was thankful for it, even if it went against the established logic of his world. 

Max never demanded payment either, instead doing it because he ‘liked’ Griff. Ash knew Max wasn’t lying when he said that, as it had been six years, and the two still regularly hung out, to the point where Max had become a regular positive force in Ash’s life, even seeing him off on his flight to Japan. 

But shortly before he left, he’d began to wonder if their relationship had progressed further than just ‘friendship’. Max was just four years older than Griff, and had also served in the Great War. The two hung out quite frequently, and despite Griff still having limited talking ability, often slurring his words and unable to speak more than a few small words at a time, he often told Max that he loved him. The two had even shared a few quick pecks on the lips in plain view of Ash, usually ending in flustered laughter and the both of them acting as if it weren’t a big deal. 

Fond memories of his brother and Max flooding his mind, Ash’s eyes scanned the message from his brother, eagerly drinking in Griff’s kind words. 

‘ _Little bro,_

_Stay safe in Japan. I am sorry to see you go. I am sorry you have to fight. You are so strong and brave. Max and I are going to miss you a whole lot. I will eagerly wait for a letter from you. I hope you enjoy my present._

_Have a safe flight!_

_Love,_

_\- Griffin_ ’

Hot tears already stung at the corner of Ash’s eyes, and he sniffled a bit, wiping his face with the sleeve of his uniform. Eiji immediately picked up on what he perceived as sadness, making Ash flinch slightly, the memory of disgusting hands touching his body engraved into his muscles.

“ _Gomennasai, Asshu,_ ” Eiji said softly, removing his hand. 

“It’s okay,” Ash responded, closing the journal and placing it on the floor beside him. 

Ash should’ve expected the last thing, yet seeing it still filled him with relief. 

A Japanese - English dictionary, which he’d bought himself for the purpose of having conversations with women.

He still had no idea how to form sentences, but understanding words would be much easier, as would talking to Eiji, hopefully. 

Eiji let out a noise of surprise and content upon seeing the dictionary, and Ash handed it to him, letting him look through it. 

“Can I go outside? I need a smoke,” Ash mumbled, earning a confused look from Eiji. 

“Uh...”

Ash picked up the pack of cigarettes and his lighter, holding them up. Eiji seemed to understand, as he nodded and rose to his feet, motioning for Ash to follow him. 

The two of them exited the room, creeping down the stairs. Eiji winced as he made his way down the steps, stopping halfway down and massage his calf, muttering something under his breath. 

When they reached the bottom of the steps, Eiji groaned, his face contorted into a pained expression. At the base of the steps, a wooden crutch leaned against the wall. Ash watched as Eiji grabbed it, propping it under his arm. He turned to Ash, cheeks flushed slightly as he smiled warmly, flashing a thumbs up. 

“Are you okay? Er—‘day...joh...buu?’” He questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

“ _Mhmm! Daijobu da!_ ” Eiji nodded, still looking a bit pained. 

Eiji headed for the door, sliding it open with his free hand. Ash looked a bit surprised, but gave Eiji a friendly nod and headed through the doorway out onto the wooden porch. 

He took a deep breath, the fresh country air filling him with a sense of calm. 

Eiji shuffled out of the house behind him, leaving the door ajar.

Ash stared out at the unfamiliar surroundings, realizing almost immediately that he’d ended up somewhere quite rural. Sprawled in front of them were rolling green hills dotted with houses, behind which a thick ridge of mountains rose. The hills met in a low valley where a small city could be seen, contrasting against the rippling blue of some distant sea, glittering beneath a pale blue sky twinged with the pale indications of the oncoming sunset. 

Ash took a seat on the porch, pulling out a cigarette and flipping open his lighter, lighting his cigarette and taking a long drag.

Eiji took a seat next to him, resting the crutch against the steps that led up to the porch, staring up at the occasional plane jetting by. He glanced over at Ash, watching as he took another drag of his cigarette, flicking the ashes into the grass at their feet. 

The shared silence between the two of them felt nice; peaceful, even. Ash noticed Eiji looking at him, wondering if he wanted a smoke. 

Had he ever smoked? Eiji looked confused yet intrigued, so it was possible that he’d never done it before. 

Ash passed the cigarette to Eiji, who examined it for several moments before putting it to his lips as he’d seen Ash do, taking a deep breath. The smoke filled his lungs, burning them. The terrible taste of the smoke flooded his mouth, lingering on his tongue like a bad after taste. He immediately began coughing violently, passing the cigarette back to Ash as he gagged, nearly vomiting from the disgusting taste. 

Ash tried stifling a laugh, but couldn’t help it, instead laughing aloud.

Eiji groaned, croaking out something that Ash, as usual, didn’t understand.

“Here,” Ash mumbled, retrieving the canteen he’d put in his pocket earlier, passing it to Eiji.

He grabbed it eagerly, gulping down the bitter liquid inside. It burned his throat and made his stomach feel as though it were on fire, seeming to make the sensation of the cigarette even worse. 

What the fuck was with Ash? He smoked disgusting cigarettes and burning alcohol without so much as batting an eye, where those things made Eiji want to be sick. 

“Huh? Don’t like it?” Ash asked, taking the canteen back, taking a shot of what he now realized was scotch, probably stolen from the shower of gifts that Max rained down upon Griff. 

“It’s an acquired taste, I guess,” Ash shrugged, taking another quick shot before screwing the top back on and sliding it back into his pocket. 

A childish thought pulled at his mind; the idea of having shared an ‘indirect kiss’ with Eiji, as he’d drank from the canteen before Ash.

Thinking about his attraction to men always left Ash confused, so he’d merely opted to stuff it down in an attempt to not really think about it. Still, as he matured, it began to become painfully obvious that he could no longer ignore it. 

He’d certainly had sex with men before, but that had merely been a result of the fact that all his client base were adult male politicians or men of other similar social standing. He had no attraction to any of them, instead forcing himself to tolerate their abuse as to get paid. 

But the attraction he felt towards women seemed plainly obvious and straightforward. He’d had a crush on a girl in his neighborhood when he was a boy, and couldn’t say he wasn’t excited by the risqué pin-up photos that his fellow soldiers seemed to enjoy so much. He’d be perfectly content in settling for the heterosexual white picket fence love that all the movies showed, and which all men were expected to want. 

But liking men felt different, as if it were another world all its own, entirely separated from the normalcy society associated with heterosexuality. 

He’d seen men that he considered attractive, sure. He’d even had a crush on his best friend in high school, a handsome Chinese guy nicknamed Shorter, who’d adopted the nickname after everyone constantly butchered his real name. 

Still, examining his attraction to men felt like looking into a pool of rippling water. Perhaps his trauma had muddled his feelings; perhaps it was society’s doing. There was something he couldn’t pin down about it, though, something so impossibly unlike his attraction to women. It had no name or words to describe it, slithering just out of his grasp like a snake. 

Nobody had ever taught him about this sort of thing, so how could he be expected to go it alone? Griff had always been a kind brother, sure, but his brain trauma prevented him from explaining the concept of being a man who loved men to Ash. 

He didn’t even know if Griff considered himself to be one. He’d never mentioned anything about it, but maybe he’d been too ashamed or something, or didn’t think Ash would understand. He knew nothing of Ash’s prostitution job either, so it seemed highly likely that he just assumed Ash was straight. 

Still, it seemed weird that he’d never mentioned it. Griff never had a girlfriend as far as Ash knew, or if he’d had one in his teen years before Ash’s birth, he never mentioned her. It made sense that women would become a low priority after he’d returned home from the war, but Ash found it unusual that he hadn’t had a girlfriend in the years leading up to the war. Despite now being almost old enough to be Ash’s father, but still made no mention of any women in his life besides his now-deceased mother. 

Maybe coming out wasn’t as simple as he’d previously believed. It made sense that Griff would want to hide it, especially since discrimination only seemed to be getting worse. 

Was it as bad here as in America? This place seemed like a different world, so impossibly far-removed from the place Ash knew and loved. 

He wished he could ask Eiji.

Casting a sidelong glance at the other, Ash noticed that he too seemed lost in thought, staring aimlessly at something unseen. The crisp hands of an early autumn breeze ran their fingers through Eiji’s hair, cool but not quite cold yet.

The rippling orange sun inched lazily down the multicolored sky, making its daily trudge towards the mountains that rose above the horizon. The swirling gray smoke of Ash’s cigarette contrasted starkly against the sky, painted various shades of colors reminiscent of autumn leaves. 

He couldn’t help but turn back to look at Eiji, who now had his right cheek pressed against his hand, his elbow propped up against the knee of his bad leg. The warm tones of the sky seemed to bring out the warm sandy color of Eiji’s skin, once again drawing Ash back to watching the sunset on the beaches of Cape Cod. Eiji’s amber eyes seemed to be rippling with gold, the darker parts appearing almost orange in the fading light.

Had Eiji always been this pretty? 

Had Ash just not noticed?

No.

‘I’m just tired,’ Ash thought, shaking his head to be rid of the thought and taking another drag of his cigarette. 

The two sat in silence, watching as the brightly-painted sky faded to a dull golden sepia, and then into a milky blue faintly dotted with barely-visible stars. 

As the silver crescent moon began to peek its pale face over the horizon, Eiji spoke. 

“ _Asshu, iku yo,_ ” he said in surprising urgency, tugging at Ash’s uniform sleeve. 

“Hm? D-Dohko...ka?” Ash asked, filled with a sense of pride at having been able to pull the word for ‘where’ from his brain. 

Eiji pointed to the forest that encircled the home either side, also wrapping around the back.

“You wanna go for a walk?” Ash questioned. 

He couldn’t remember the word for walk, wishing he’d brought his dictionary with him. 

Oh well. It had already become too dark to read anyways, and the light from his lighter wouldn’t be enough.

What confused Ash, however, was the fact that someone with a bad leg wanted to go on a walk. Red flags immediately began rising in his brain once again, bringing with them the facts of the matter at hand, which were that Eiji is still the enemy, and that this could all just be some elaborate hoax to try and trick him. 

It didn’t help that Eiji wanted to lead him into the forest, let alone under the thick veil of darkness that had begun to feel suffocating. 

“ _Iku yo!_ ” Eiji repeated, more urgent this time. 

“I-I don’t trust that,” Ash retorted, his muscles stiffening in preparation for fight-or-flight. 

Eiji cried out something Ash didn’t understand, grasping his wrist before rising shakily to his feet, abandoning the crutch on the porch steps. He pulled Ash’s arm as he made his way down the steps and towards the back of the house. Ash tried jerking his arm away, shocked when Eiji kept his firm grip, stumbling awkwardly across the grass to the area behind the house. 

Once they’d arrived at the back of the home where another one of those strange sliding doors opened to the back porch, Eiji led Ash up onto the back porch and pushed him against a section of the wall out of view of the door.

Ash’s heart pounded furiously against his ribcage as he glanced down at Eiji, who had him backed against the cold, white wall. Tears streamed down his flushed face, his expression contorted into a painful combination of sadness and anger. 

Eiji slowly removed his arms from their place against the wall on either side of Ash, looking up at him with those still-teary amber eyes. 

He quietly breathed one word that Ash, of course, didn’t understand, motioning for him to stay fixed in place as one would motion for a dog to stay.

Eiji stepped down from the porch, half-running half-stumbling through the grass towards the front porch, rounding the corner of the house and disappearing from Ash’s sight. 

Ash wondered if he should make a run for it. He could probably make it into the forest before Eiji came back.

Or he could stay and attempt to fight Eiji off if he came back with a weapon or something. Ash still had no clue whether or not the other’s leg injury was actually real, or if it was merely a farce to trick Ash into thinking him weaker than he actually was. His grip certainly felt strong enough, which caused Ash to wonder if he’d been faking his leg injury in an attempt to garner sympathy or something. 

As he prepared himself to make a run for it, a voice came from the area in front of the house, probably several hundred feet away still. 

But Ash recognized the voice instantly as the woman from earlier, as well as the voice of a younger girl, definitely a child. The two of them spoke to Eiji briefly, exchanging greetings that Ash recognized. A tense moment of silence hung in the air for a brief second before the sound of the front door sliding open could be faintly heard, and two pairs of footsteps entered the house. They were both completely even, not stilted and awkwardly-paced like Eiji’s were. 

It must’ve been the woman, who Ash assumed to be Eiji’s mother, and the little girl, probably Eiji’s sister or something. 

What was going on? 

In his moment of confusion, Ash remained frozen, fixed on the porch. Eiji rounded the corner once more, crutch beneath his arm.

Ash immediately noticed him, wondering what had just happened. 

Eiji stood in the grass at the base of the porch, motioning for Ash to come over to him, whilst also making a shushing motion with his other hand. 

Everything clicked into place.

Eiji was trying to protect him.

A sudden wave of guilt washed over him, realizing that he’d doubted Eiji for no reason besides the fact that he’d had falsely perceived him as the enemy. 

Ash crept off the porch towards Eiji, tears stinging his eyes. He just wanted to hug him.

“G-Gomen...nasai...” Ash mumbled, guilt causing his cheeks to flush darkly. 

Eiji merely smiled that warm, soft, familiar smile. Any hint of the tears he’d been crying earlier had all but vanished from his face, remaining only in fading tear-stains barely visible under the shroud of darkness that covered both his cheeks. 

Ash felt Eiji’s palm lightly brush against his own before quickly settling on his sleeve, tugging at it as he made his way towards the forest where a small path cut through the trees, producing a natural walking trail. He somehow felt even worse upon a renewed flame of distrust awakening in his gut, a small part of him wondering if Eiji planned to murder him. 

‘He won’t,’ Ash thought, mentally reassuring himself that there was no way in hell Eiji planned to hurt him. As ruthless as Japan’s army was, if Eiji intended to dispose of him he’d surely have already done so.

As the two passed through the edge of the tree line, their footsteps crunching in uneven paces on the leaves below, a sudden sense of calm filled him. The forest seemed truly peaceful and serene, despite the fact that walking through an unfamiliar woods at night with someone who he barely knew under any other circumstance would’ve been a fucking terrifying experience. 

He didn’t know if the forest itself created the effect, or if it had been imparted at least partially by Eiji’s presence.

Probably a bit of both, as Ash knew that if he were alone, the loneliness he knew so intimately would’ve long since made a home in his soul by now.

The cries of unknown wildlife never sounded far off, and an occasional crunching of twigs beneath some creature’s feet could be heard every now and again, seeming to trail behind the two as they walked. 

Eiji appeared to have only trouble keeping a decent pace as the two walked, his breaths becoming more shallow and rapid the deeper the two proceeded into the forest. By the time they’d gotten probably fifteen minutes in, Eiji struggled to keep pace with Ash, who’d taken the lead down the trail. The moon had risen high into the gaping black maw of the night sky before Eiji called out a ragged ‘ _tomare kudasai_ ’, causing Ash to stop and turn around.

Eiji’s cheeks were flushed, and the thin layer of sweat that glazed his skin gave it an unnatural shine, his lips parted as he eagerly swallowed the cold night air into his burning lungs. 

“Are you okay? Er—daijoh...bu?” Ash asked softly. 

Eiji nodded, but it seemed pretty obvious that was a lie, as he massaged his calf uncomfortably whilst leaning heavily against his crutch. 

“Why don’t we go back? You seem like you’re in a lot of pain,” Ash told him, pointing to the space behind Eiji. He turned his head, glancing back.

“I-Iku yo, right?” Ash smiled. Eiji nodded, letting out a defeated noise as he turned around, heading back down the path slowly.

His legs shook as he walked, and Ash made sure to stay close behind him in case he fell, which seemed pretty likely considering the distance they still had to go. 

Eiji stopped in the middle of the path, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath. 

“Eh? You need me to carry you or something?” Ash mumbled, hesitantly resting his hand against Eiji’s back. 

A soldier never left his comrade behind, no matter what. 

Even if boot camp had tried to cram the ‘every man for himself’ mentality into his mind, it went against his nature. 

“C’mon,” Ash grunted, lifting Eiji up and carrying him bridal style, earning a flustered squeak from him.

Still, Eiji didn’t protest, instead merely resting his head against Ash’s chest, his brown eyes fluttering closed. 

He looked terrible.

“Why’d you do this to yourself?” Ash breathed, shaking his head. Eiji groaned in response, the pain in his expression finally beginning to fade.

Ash felt his heart thrumming against his ribcage like an uneven drum beat, brushing it off as merely the exertion of carrying Eiji. Despite being in shape, carrying someone who was likely equal in weight to him took its toll. 

The walk back took a bit longer than it would’ve, but Eiji avoided a lot of pain as well as the extra strain on his bad leg, so Ash certainly saw it as worth it, even if he’d become _unusually_ sweaty on the walk back, especially for such a cold night. 

Whatever. He could just take a shower; no big deal. 

As they approached Eiji’s house, he began squirming in Ash’s arms; an obvious sign that he wanted to be put back down. 

“Okay, okay,” Ash muttered, setting Eiji back down, keeping a hand close to his waist in case his legs decided to give out. 

But they didn’t, and the two made it back to the porch, stopping on the steps for a quick break. 

“ _Asshu!_ ” Eiji chirped, taking Ash’s sweaty hand in his own. 

“ _Furo ni hairu deshou!_ ” He smiled warmly, sliding open the door and heading inside, still clutching Ash’s hand. 

“Huh?” Ash raised an eyebrow, pulled along by Eiji as the two entered the house. Eiji made another shushing motion, closing the sliding door behind him with a quiet click. His minimal Japanese studies let him piece together well enough what Eiji had said.

Probably that he wanted Ash to take a bath. 

Ash merely let Eiji drag him up the steps and towards the bathroom. Darkness enveloped the entire house, an especially thick blanket draped over the long hallway that led past the bedrooms and towards the bathroom and the room Ash stayed in. Only silence met Ash’s ears as Eiji quietly slid the bathroom door open, switching on the light. 

He turned Ash and said something unintelligible before turning on the bath water and sticking his hand under the faucet, humming quietly as he did so. 

Ash simply lingered awkwardly in the bathroom doorway, still in his sweaty uniform, boots and all. 

Eiji glanced back at him expectantly, looking disappointed upon seeing Ash still in his clothes, especially his boots, which Eiji can blatantly see are caked with dirt and leaves.

“ _Asshu_ ,” Eiji grumbled, puffing out his cheeks in a playful pout. He repeated his earlier request for Ash to take off his clothes, knowing it’d fall on deaf ears once again but not knowing how else to say it so Ash could understand. 

Damn language barrier. 

If only there were an easier way for the two to communicate. He hated not knowing any English, but almost nobody except interpreters and the upper crust of society spoke it, so knowing it wouldn’t have been useful anyways had he never met Ash. Japan’s isolationist policy didn’t help either, and the only effect it had on society had been that everyone spoke Japanese only, and perhaps a bit of Chinese if one were lucky enough to be born rich. 

But for once, it was lucky that Ash didn’t understand Eiji. Sure, Eiji had been gentle, and had phrased his request as such instead of a demand, opting for the polite ‘ _nugimasu kudasai_ ’ over ‘ _nuide kudasai_ ’, or the informal ‘ _nuge kudasai_ ’.

Even still, it had been a lucky break. Had Ash heard something like that in English, all hell would’ve likely broken loose inside him; awakened by a phrase he’d heard too much, tossed around as if it were but a request to do something like washing the dishes or taking out the trash instead of what it was, a demand that Ash force himself into a situation he’d lived a hundred times over, with most of the occurrences taking place before he’d even matured enough to understand the full extent of what had been asked of him. 

He wasn’t ready to hear it again; not now or ever, even if it came from the deepest depths of Eiji’s well-intentioned heart. 

Nobody who made demands like that _ever_ had good intentions, Ash believed, although it would’ve been wrong for him to fault Eiji for saying something that he didn’t know would be upsetting. 

Once the water had been drawn, Eiji turned off the faucet and glanced over at Ash. He stared at Eiji discontentedly, his face contorted into some kind of mix of confusion and embarrassment sprinkled with a dusting of abject horror. 

Did Americans have some kind of complex about their privacy? Had Ash forgotten Eiji had already seen him naked anyways? 

There was absolutely nothing weird about seeing another man naked.

But for Ash, it wasn’t another man seeing him exposed that bothered him, but rather the association of unwillingly baring himself to another man with the suffocating shadows of his childhood. The two could never be separated, and Ash knew that for as long as he lived, the intrinsic connection would haunt him, lingering uncomfortably over him as a stubborn miasma born out of the desires of men Ash associated with only out of some desire to be “loved”, the meaning of that word having been contorted inside his brain, now meaning completely the opposite of what it should have.

It reminded him of how fucked up he was.

As Eiji rose wordlessly to his feet and awkwardly shuffled out of the bathroom, sliding the door shut only to stand outside it as if he were guarding something, Ash came to realize that even if he’d escaped the physical battlefield several thousand miles away, he’d by no means escaped the war zone inside his mind. The no man’s land of his mind, criss-crossed with battle scars and dotted with land mines had already begun to look like an uphill battle; one that, in the face of everything, seemed un-winnable no matter the strategy used.

This would no doubt become a long and bloody fight to the death, he was certain of it.


End file.
